


Yours as long as my heart lasts

by Elesianne



Series: Maedhros and Fingon [7]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: M/M, Other tags listed in each chapter, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-20
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:01:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 2,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25998676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elesianne/pseuds/Elesianne
Summary: A collection of my shortest Maedhros/Fingon ficlets, previously posted on Tumblr. New chapters will be posted when/if I write new ficlets.
Relationships: Fingon | Findekáno/Maedhros | Maitimo
Series: Maedhros and Fingon [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1689427
Comments: 26
Kudos: 35





	1. Stay with me tonight (every night)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fingon won't let the strain between their fathers affect his and Maedhros's relationship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic was written for a prompt ('Stay here tonight') by an anon on Tumblr and posted there in April 2020.
> 
>  **Tags for this chapter:** angst, hurt/comfort; **Wordcount:** 487

‘Stay here’, Findekáno asks as Maitimo walks towards the door after finishing his recital of apologies. ‘Stay here tonight.’

Maitimo laughs but it is a hollow sound that Findekáno never heard before the cool distance between their fathers became a rift, a bottomless chasm that hurts both families every day.

‘You want me to stay? After all that has happened today – my father and brothers insulting yours, and then you; while I only feebly defended you, so feebly that my father barely even listened –’

‘You apologised for that already, quite enough.’ Findekáno comes to Maitimo and winds his arms around him, and this too Maitimo resists only feebly. It is the first physical touch between the two of them today.

Maitimo feels the tension that has lived in his every muscle and sinew and bone all day seep out of him, leaving him loose-limbed and exhausted.

'You apologised, and I accepted your apology’, says Findekáno, 'and now I would like you to stay here in my room and in my bed so that we’ll be more to each other on this day than two people who have hurt each other and felt guilt for it. Let us make each other feel better things, Maitimo, my love.’

'My love’, Maitimo repeats, caressing Findekáno’s back. 'You did not hurt me.’

'And if _you_ hurt me, it was but a scratch, made all better with a single kiss.’ Findekáno smiles. 'I have thicker skin than you think, Maitimo.’

Maitimo kisses him. How could he not?

Leaning his forehead against Findekáno’s, he then says, his guilt still clinging to him as tight as he clings to Findekáno, 'Even when my father says things that I agree with, the way he says them –’ Maitimo shakes his head. 'And I feel so weak, Finno, a weak and despicable creature for not being able to stop him from hurting you.’

'You are not weak. You have strength of a kind that your father will never understand.’ Findekáno’s eyes are beseeching, and also carry strength of his own kind, when he looks up at Maitimo. 'Stay here with me tonight, Maitimo, and let us talk of things that bring no quarrel between us, and no apologies either.’

And Maitimo lets him take him by the hand and lead him to the table by the window. (The window whose drapes are closed tight, yet there is still too much of a danger of discovery; Maitimo should not stay, yet he does.) Findekáno pours them both wine and begins talking about horses, and slowly, some more tension leaves Maitimo, and by the time their cups are empty Maitimo is himself enough to take Findekáno’s hand and take him to his lavish bed.

Findekáno says that he has thick skin but what he does have, Maitimo thinks as he looks at his love on his golden sheets, is a glow about him that nothing could diminish.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My fic [Let's pretend and be wildfire](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10907277) takes place during the same time period, shortly after this one.
> 
> I'll post the next tiny fic in a couple of days.


	2. Most beautiful thing on black earth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Summary:** Fingon visits Maedhros in Himring during the relatively peaceful period.
> 
> This fic was inspired by the first part of a Sappho poem fragment from _If Not, Winter_ (translation Anne Carson). Sappho was a Greek female poet who wrote in the 6th century BC. Posted on Tumblr in May 2020.
> 
>  **Tags for this chapter:** fluff; **Wordcount:** 370

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Sappho fragment 16_   
>  _Some men say an army of horse and some men say an army on foot_   
>  _and some men say an army of ships is the most beautiful thing_   
>  _on the black earth. But I say it is_   
>  _what you love.[]_

‘To me you are the most beautiful thing on this marred earth.’ Fingon runs a light hand down Maedhros’ side, a hand that was heavy and merciless on his sword when they sparred in the afternoon.

Maedhros likes that Fingon gives him no quarter when they spar, trusting in Maedhros’ skill and strength more than anyone else, more than Maedhros himself.

But –

'Don’t be silly’, he says to Fingon. 'Armies and people are not comparable. They have a different sort of beauty.’

Fingon scrunches up his nose. He is more fanciful, freer, in moments like this, reminding Maedhros of youthful years in treelight. 'They are when I am composing poetry in bed’, Fingon says. 'Beauty is beauty, and I know it when I see it.’

He cups Maedhros’ scarred cheek. Maedhros lets him; he knows by now, over a century after beginning a new life that Fingon brought him to, that it hurts Fingon more to not be allowed to do it than it hurts Maedhros to let him.

'You are just being contrary for the sake of being contrary, aren’t you?’ Fingon accuses him. He does not seem very cross.

'I might be. What will you do about it, my love who is also more beautiful than armies? Although, if you lead an army, what does that logically mean for this argument –’

He laughs when Fingon pushes him from his side to his back and straddles him.

'The more you argue about logic in my love poetry, the more I will compose of it, and sing in your hall after dinner tomorrow’, Fingon threatens, bright light and humour dancing in his eyes.

'I propose a truce.’ Maedhros smiles up at his beloved, lazy and indulgent. 'You do not sing my praises in my hall, only in my room; and you may do it here as much as you like, and I will not argue about logic.’

Fingon raises one brow. 'That sounds like you conceding much more than me.’

'Perhaps I like your logic-free poetry.’ Maedhros sets his hand on Fingon’s waist. 'Or the sound of your voice, at least.’

Fingon squawks indignantly. Maedhros pulls him to a kiss; he likes the sighs Fingon makes when they kiss better than any poetry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this is similar to my other Russingon fics but I just like writing the two of them in like moments like this.


	3. Without old sorrows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first evening of their new life after Maedhros returns from the Halls of Mandos.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by arofili/starlightwalking prompting me with the line 'I've been waiting a long time' on Tumblr, I wrote my first re-embodiment fic.
> 
>  **Word count** : 660

The light in the small stone houses where the newly re-embodied spend their first days is rather dim, probably to help adjust to brighter light gradually after the eternal twilight of the Halls.

Maitimo – Maedhros – he still doesn’t know what name to use of himself – he doesn’t care for the dim light. It doesn’t allow him to study his beloved as closely as he’d like to now that his family has left for the night and the one who remains by his side is the one Maitimo never wanted to leave.

'Can we go into the garden?’ he asks Finno.

(For Finno is Finno to Maitimo. Always has been, always will be, unless Finno himself desires to be called something else.)

'Of course.’ Finno smiles.

With every one of his smiles, Maitimo can feel another piece of himself slotting back into place.

There is a bench in the garden of rough-hewn stone. Carnistir could have made a better one, Maitimo thinks absently, then corrects himself. Carnistir could make a better one. He’d been brought back into his body before Maitimo; most of them were.

Maitimo sits down first. Finno sits down right next to him, and then scoots even closer.

He leans against Maitimo’s side, a warm weight that Maitimo’s heart remembers.

'What are you waiting for?’ Finno asks. 'Put your arm around me, darling. I’d put mine around you but we both know that that always begins to feel awkward very soon.’

He has been throwing around endearments since the second that Maitimo stepped through those doors of jet and saw him; as if they do not cost him anything, as if Maitimo didn’t do so many unforgivable things after Finno died in a battle that Maitimo didn’t plan well enough.

Maitimo puts his arm around him. The white tunic that they gave him is a little too small and pulls in the shoulder but he doesn’t mind. It is an insignificant price to pay for this, for another familiar, treasured sensation coming back to him, for the scent of Finno’s hair in his nose.

Finno sighs. 'Finally we’re how we belong. I’ve been waiting a long time.’

Maitimo watches the small garden before him, the sunset staining the leaves and grass that peculiar colour that only exists when the light is dying for the day.

'I’m sorry’, he says. 'For everything. I cannot even comprehend why you want me with you like this when we haven’t even discussed… anything.’

Finno shifts a little, sets his hand on Maitimo’s thigh. 'Can you grant me this day of joy without old sorrows?’

'If you wish.’ To Maitimo’s surprise, for all his previous urgency to apologise, it’s another insignificant price. Perhaps because he feels he has been forgiven already.

'I do.’ Finno sighs again. 'We have time, my love. Finally we have time. We shall talk about everything, all the good and ill and evil and brave and desperate things that you did, and I, and we will heal together those parts of ourselves that could not heal while we were apart.’

Distantly, Maitimo wonders if Finno agreed on that plan beforehand together with Maitimo’s mother. She’d said the same: There is time. We will grieve together. Let me rejoice in you today.

He’d kneeled before her as soon as he saw her, though her arms were outstretched to him. She’d tugged him up at once, stronger than he’d expected like she always was, and held him to her so tight that he could finally breathe deep for the first time since he got his body back.

She let him breathe again; Finno makes him feel physical things again. The cold stone of the bench, his sweet warmth, his hair tickling Maitimo’s face that he has sunk in the soft black curls.

Maitimo asks Finno, 'When we have healed, what are we going to do?’

He can hear the small smile on Finno’s lips, like sunlight on waves. 'Whatever we want.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I listened to Taylor Swifts 'the lakes' the entire time I was writing this. It has a rather good Russingon mood.


	4. In Araman

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the prompt 'touch with a promise' on Tumblr, this takes place while the Noldor are in Araman, trying to decide how to get into Beleriand when the Helcaraxë seems impassable and there are too few ships.
> 
>  **Word count:** 240 words

After a day filled with discordant discussion, arguing about what path to take, Findekáno takes a message from his father to Maedhros’s about how Nolofinwë wants to continue the discussion the next day.

In the clinging, cold mist, Findekáno makes his way to see another person before returning to his father.

He finds Maitimo with his brothers, and draws him aside.

‘What is it?’ asks Maitimo, curt as he has never been before this flight from Valinor.

'Nothing’, says Findekáno, his hand fisted lightly in Maitimo’s damp cloak. 'Nothing but my desire to see you and say, keep heart. We will find the way.’

Maitimo’s red brows straighten from their frown. 'So we must since we have men with hearts such as my father’s and such as your heart. Full of fire, and full of hope and trust.’

Turning his back to the fire, in the cover of his own wide cloak, Findekáno takes Maitimo’s hand. Maitimo’s brothers’ acceptance of their relationship frayed thin over the years when their fathers quarrelled, and Nolofinwë’s swearing to follow Fëanáro did not mend it.

'And men such as you who is always stronger than you believe’, Findekáno says.

Maitimo touches his cheek. Findekáno closes his eyes; fire dances behind his eyelids.

'For you, I promise that I always will be’, Maitimo says, and kisses him. 'We will go on, whether by sea or land, and we will reach our destination.


	5. Old wounds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was written for prompt ‘touch after a nightmare’ by an anon on Tumblr.
> 
>  **Tags:** hurt/comfort, First Age; **Word count:** 240
> 
>  **Warning** for vague references to torture.

He is pulled from darkness and pain to candlelight and a strong, gentle hand running down his back.

'You’re not there’, a beloved voice says, quiet and gentle and intent. 'You are here with me, Maedhros, safe and secure in my stronghold in Hithlum, and no one is going to hurt you.’

'Finno’, Maedhros mumbles, pushing himself upright with the aid of his one hand. It is reassuring that there is only one; in the dream, he still had two.

As Fingon’s hand continues its soothing movements on his back where the wounds are old, scarred over and almost painless instead of new and deep and raw as they were in the dream, Maedhros wraps his fingers around his stump.

The window they’d left cracked open lets open a smell of fresh snow, there is a crooked candle burning on chest beside the bed – Fingon must have lit it in a hurry – and though the dream was true, it is also a lie for it is old like his wounds are old. It is the wound that refuses to scab over and heal and scar as well as his other ones have, but it is still an old wound.

He lays his head on Fingon’s shoulder and breathes in deep the familiar scent of him. 'Always was safe when I was with you’, he says, moving his hand to Fingon’s unbraided, messy hair. Fingon will need the comfort, too.


	6. Universally beloved

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the prompt 'touch on a scar' by fingons-rad-harp on Tumblr.
> 
>  **Tags:** during the Long Peace, fluff, humour, implied sex; **Word count:** 460

After months apart there are always surprisingly many things, mainly small ones that did not get written about in their letters, that they need to acquaint and reacquaint themselves with.

And what is a better place to get familiar with each other’s bodies again than the immense bathtub that Maedhros has had brought up and filled with water just this side of tolerably hot, sitting back with Fingon sitting between his legs, Fingon's head on his chest, his tied-up hair tickling Maedhros’s nose, Maedhros's arms around him.

‘And what is this?’ Maedhros rubs an uneven patch of skin on the outside of Fingon’s thigh. 'A new scar?’

'Just a small one. It might heal further and not be there the next time we see each other’, Fingon says, sounding drowsy. Warm water tends to do that to him.

'Mm. Then I will have to remember to kiss it when we go to bed.’ Maedhros strokes the little scar gently. 'How did you get it? Too slow during sparring with your best warriors?’

'No, not that.’

That is a strangely short and reluctant answer. 'How, then?’

'I’d rather not say’, Fingon mumbles, tensing.

'It is something embarrassing, then.’ Maedhros says nothing more. Silence often prompts people to speak what they haven't, and Fingon is no exception.

'My father has already teased me about it’, he sighs, relaxing again in Maedhros’s arms. 'You won’t, will you?’

'How can I promise when I don’t know what it is?’

'Fine.’ Another sigh. 'Bruidal kicked me.’

Maedhros guffaws, shaking from laughter. 'The handsome, temperamental yearling you’ve got your eye on as your next war-steed.’

'Yes. The one that both my father and you advised me not to train myself. Well, seems that Bruidal thinks so too. This is not the only injury he’s given me.’

Maedhros pats Fingon’s thigh. 'I hope that you are now having someone help you with him.’

'Someone who knows more about horses than me, yes, I do now.’

'Don’t feel too bad about it, dear.’ Maedhros kisses his shoulder. 'You have so many responsibilities and always have had that it is understandable that people who have always had horse-training as their only calling in life are better at it than you are.’

'I know. I do hope that Bruidal will come to like me despite my half-inept attempts at training him, though.’

'I am sure that he will. After all, everyone likes you, people and beasts alike.’

'And you like me best of all, don’t you, darling?’

'Certainly I do’, Maedhros answers as Fingon turns in his arms, wet and naked and limber and lifting his face in search of kisses, and as always Maedhros is smugly satisfied at the size of the bathtub that he had made: it accommodates all sorts of activities.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The name Bruidal means 'loud foot'.
> 
> I have no plans for more prompt fics at the moment but I expect that eventually I will write more. You can subscribe to this work if you want an email notification when I post another tiny fic.


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